


A Love That Chooses Me

by cruelest_month



Series: Samson & Del [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friendship, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, When a Pessimist loves an Optimist, When an Optimist Loves a Pessimist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traveling through the Bannorn, Samson meets a younger man, a mage named Del. Despite his gruff nature and better judgment, Samson falls in love. </p><p>It's not enough to keep them together. It's too brief an encounter to warrant the connection they've got... But how many times does Samson have to lose Del before he accepts the way he feels?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TCRegan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU series, Samson and Cullen were recruited by Cassandra at the same time. Samson's backstory isn't an entirely positive one, but I was slightly inspired by the Wolf of Skyhold comic by momochanners. 
> 
> I never know if visual references are annoying or appealing, but I'm assuming they can be helpful. This Samson is somewhat healthier than the one in Dragon Age: Inquisition. Something like [this first picture by JaneArts](%E2%80%9D) and I love [the Samson Inquisitor made by cucumberprince](http://cucumberprince.tumblr.com/post/114083353594/au-in-which-samson-is-the-inquisitor-pft-i-was).
> 
>  
> 
> [And Del Trevelyan looks like this.](http://cruelestmonth.tumblr.com/post/114064355570/my-current-inquisitor-i-spent-a-very-long-time%0A)

*

It was immediately obvious to Samson that the boy was a mage. First and foremost because it had been his job to notice this sort of thing when he was still in the Order. Outside of the Order, the ability to look for subtle clues had helped him save more than a few lives.

Confirmation came quickly, for while the boy had been serving the other tables well enough, when he approached theirs, his hands had taken on a sort of slight shake.

Rutherford, git that he was, noticed only that his plate was wobbling and he suggested the boy take more care.

Which added to the nerves. And resulted in some stammering until it was impossible to tell what the boy was trying to say.

Samson rose to his feet, taking one dish at a time and setting them down on the table. He admired the view as he did so. Bright blue eyes, soft blond hair, slight frame, and a really lovely face. “No harm done,” Samson said. “No harm coming either, all right?”

“Thank you.”

Rutherford was already eating, but he glanced at the boy as he headed out of the room. “Bit simple but then I suppose he just works in the kitchens.”

Samson had been considering the pretty mage’s ass, which seemed better than either grunting an agreement or defending someone he didn’t even know. Still and honestly, Rutherford hadn’t noticed the mage?

 _What a shite templar_ , he thought with an almost fondness for the other man. They both were albeit for very different reasons. Samson because he thought mages were people and wanted to help them. Cullen because he’d listened to his superiors but still had moments of conscience.

And they were, Samson often reminded himself, friends. Sort of. Maybe. As much as he could be friends with a person who he fundamentally disagreed with a majority of the time.

“Not bad in terms of looks,” Rutherford was saying. “Sweet, I suppose.”

The boy was back again, serving other tables. It was just a small tavern in a very small inn, but he seemed to be collecting a fair bit of coin.

“Must be why they keep him,” Rutherford added.

“I imagine he’s just passing through. Happens a lot, you know. People on the road need a bed. Offer to help out.”

“They ought to decline.”

“While you were so busy trying to figure out how intelligent our server is, did you notice you’re the only person here who nearly wore his own supper?” Samson asked. “He’s not waving plates about the place, and if he was, I’d feel sorry for him.” If he was, it would have been their fault or at least that of their so-called brothers in arms.

“Headache?” Rutherford asked kindly. He looked a bit simple himself with his misplaced concern.

Right. Because when he had a headache, he went out of his way to demand politeness from others? Samson sighed, shoveling his stew into his mouth. He was suddenly eager to be done with poorly seasoned meals and his constant traveling companion.

“Right you are,” he muttered when he was done. “Going for a walk.” _You stupid tit._

Outside, it was dark and glum, but at least it wasn’t cold. The walk Samson took was a short one made of purposeful strides towards a tree near the stables. He leaned back and worked on filling his pipe.

Traveling with Rutherford was better than traveling with the others. Cassandra was usually in a mood. Leliana seemed unstable at best. He didn’t mind Josephine, but she wasn’t always keen on him. And he’d been keen to miss the lectures or sermons or handholding or whatever they all delighted in giving him. He wasn’t interested in the Maker, hadn’t been for years now. He was fairly confident that the less interest the Maker had in His children, the better off the rest of them would be.

It was difficult to believe most of them were Orlesian and not a single one of them would have been interested in anything other but a loud discussion of theology and diplomacy. He could think of a few better uses for their constantly wagging—

“Did you need a light?”

Samson glanced up and blinked. Speaking of mouths that could have been put to better use. “Got a tinderbox, have you?”

“No, I…”

“Relax,” Samson suggested. He took the pipe stem between two fingers, and held the bowl out to the boy. “I could use a light. Take care of it, will you?”

“You try relaxing around here and see where it gets you,” the boy said with a sigh. He snapped his fingers, letting a small flame curl around the tobacco for only a moment. “There.”

“Thanks,” Samson said before puffing his pipe for a moment. Then he asked: “What brings you out here?”

“Questions from your friend. Maker’s Breath but he’s weird.”

Samson resisted the urge to laugh. “Oh?”

“Where am I from? How did I get here? How am I going to get anywhere else? Am I lost or in need of assistance? And all of it loud and slow and… It made me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, that. He didn’t notice you’re a mage.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he thought you were shaking our plates because you’ve got… You know.” Samson tapped the side of his head with the hand that wasn’t currently holding a lit pipe. “Not much going on hereabouts.”

The boy shook his head. Then he absently ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen much of your kind since… I just… I rather assumed…”

“We’re not what we once were. None of us are, I suppose, but my friend and me?” Samson shook his head too. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, all right? I wouldn’t hurt you for all the gold in Thedas. And he wouldn’t hurt you because he’s not like that. He’s not the sort, and if he tried anything? I guarantee you I’d stop him.”

“Thank you. You’re from the Free Marches too then? I mean, you have an accent…”

“Yes. I’m guessing you’re from Ostwick or thereabouts.”

The boy smiled. “Yes.”

“But seeing as I can’t guess your name…”

He colored slightly. “Oh. Right. It’s Del.”

“Which is short for?”

“It’s not short for anything. It’s just Del. Pleased to meet you.”

“Liar,” Samson teased before smoking his pipe again. “That’s all right. I’m Samson.”

“The one from Kirkwall?”

“…depends.”

“You must be. People talk about you. Not as much as Anders or Hawke, but they talk about you. What you did for your friend.”

“Didn’t do it for the talking everyone else did after. I did for him. Because it was right.”

“Well, of course not. Otherwise who would even care? Is your friend…”

Samson allowed his expression to soften from a scowl into a smirk. “Well and good. Safe with his pretty little wife. Expecting twins, I’ve heard.”

“And they didn’t mark him.” It wasn’t a question just a statement. Del’s blue eyes were full of something oddly like fondness and pride. It was as baffling as it was impossible to look away from.

“They didn’t,” Samson agreed. “Got him out well before that. Writing love letters. Sending flowers to a girl. Falling in love…. That isn’t a crime. It just isn’t. But I wouldn’t sing my praises too loudly. In the grand schemes of things, what I did wasn’t worth a ballad.”

Del nodded. “You helped people because you wanted to. What ballad or poem could properly convey something so powerful and yet so profoundly obvious?”

“Words get in the way, I find,” Samson agreed. “How does an Ostwick mage find himself in the Bannorn?”

“My family helped book passage for me and several others to Ferelden.” Del ducked his head, looking down at the grass beneath his boots. “I… They’re still my family so…”

It was a fucked-up world when people had to feel bad whenever someone eased their burden, but it happened all of the time. Any mage who got help from a loved one knew that there were at least half a dozen that wouldn’t be as fortunate. That many others had never been so lucky and would never get the chance.

“You don’t have to be ashamed,” he said somewhat gruffly. “Not of that. Why here though? I hear Rivain’s… well, pissing down rain this time of year, but it would be better.”

Del had glanced up as Samson spoke, and now he was smiling sweetly. It ought to have been irritating. It wasn’t. The look suited him, and of course it did. Samson was reminded of depictions of Andraste with her tousled blond hair and benevolent, warm eyes. “There’s the Conclave.”

“There is that.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything I could do, or if my being there would make a difference, but I want to hear what’s decided. I want to be there.”

Samson considered two responses. One was a bit unkind and unnecessary. The better one, the one that sprang to mind first, was a bit more optimistic. He went with that. “Makes sense. Besides, if you’re not there, you can’t make a difference at all.”

“What blend of tobacco do you smoke?” Del asked. “I imagine you don’t really want to talk about the Conclave.”

“Smart lad,” Samson wryly replied. “I don’t. As for what this is… Nonsense for Nevarra, is all I know. A friend’s idea. Only thing I recognize in this is the dragonthorn. Why?”

“It’s just that it seems like it might be a bit harsh.”

Samson blew out several smoke rings and smirked. “Why do I think that whatever you’d have me switch to is very expensive?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be if you made the blends yourself.”

“Haven’t the knack for it. I don’t notice herbs as a general rule.”

Del laughed as if this was a particularly witty thing to say. It ought to have been, well, anything but charming. But it was. He was a bit of sunshine on a dark moonless night, and Maker help him, but Samson found it appealing. He’d been traveling for too long with only Rutherford, that had to be it. He needed the mage to go away.

“I could walk through a field of elfroot and just not see it.”

“Works out well for whoever stomps through it when you’re done,” Del pointed out. He bit his lip, hesitating, then he asked: “Does your companion notice them for you then?”

“Blind as bat, that one.” Samson sighed. “Look, it’s not my place to apologize for him, but maybe it ought to be if he was—“

“No, I… Oh, I don’t need that,” Del insisted, his tone suggesting he was close to wringing his hands. “I was only wondering if you were… Um, that is. If you two…”

Samson barked out a laugh. “Andraste’s… Well, never you mind what. No, we are most certainly aren’t.”

“Oh. Good.” The odd part was realizing Del was serious. He was genuinely pleased. “So you’re…”

“Very unattached, yes.”

“That’s good too,” Del said in a low murmur. Then he smiled again. “As for your friend… His reaction was better than what I usually get. In terms of comments, I mean. This tavern’s a bit quiet. The last one wasn’t.”

 _Don’t do that_ , Samson thought. _I wish you wouldn’t do that_. “What sort of comments?”

“About how I look. How… Well, asking how much I would do for how many coins. People… assume things far worse than my mind being a bit addled or… Actually, now I don’t know if it is worse. I don’t much like being thought of as stupid.”

“Neither are very good,” Samson agreed. “Trying at best, I’d say but... Being pretty’s like that, I imagine.”

“I wouldn’t say I was—”

“Oh don’t even. False modesty’s for us ugly bastards that need it.”

Del laughed. “You are so far from being an ugly bastard.”

Samson found this pleasing, but then he wasn’t sure Del did anything that wasn’t inevitably pleasing. Not that Samson was going to let his thoughts wander too far down that particular dirt path of disappointment. Not until he was further away from the mage at any rate. “Oh?”

“You’re very handsome.”

“It’s very dark out here.”

Del rolled his eyes, conjuring up a small pale orange wisp. “You’re handsome,” he said, waving the light away.

It all made him miss Maddox. He needed to write the old sod a letter at some point. One that was very short and unsentimental, of course. “I’ve always liked that trick. What schools did you focus on then?”

“Inferno, Spirit, and Creation. I… Um. I didn’t have my harrowing as soon as I would have liked. It ended up they’d waited because I was a bit… proud.”

Samson nodded, doubting the boy had been anything outside of a little excited to be talented. That’s generally what did it. Happiness and enthusiasm led to lectures, the removal of privileges, and the slowing down the process that would make a mage out of an apprentice. Bullshit, really. Magic didn’t have to be the worst thing that happened to a person. Then again usually magic wasn’t. People were. “What else did you study? Herbalism, I’m guessing?

“And Astronomy and Astrology.”

“Anything with ass in it, sounds like.”

Del laughed. “I hadn’t thought about that, honestly. Is this where you say something about admiring mine?”

“My friend might have. He’s clumsy like that. I just wanted to gauge your sense of humor. What you will allow and what’s too much.”

“I can handle nearly anything.”

 _You think you can,_ Samson silently agreed. _Well, go on thinking it. Don’t let people prove you wrong._ “None of that really helps you find a job, I’m guessing.”

“No, not unless I want to make a career in wandering from inn to inn and sleeping barns,” Del admitted. “I’m hoping some of that changes and soon. I’ve considered going home but… I’m too old, I think. Or too young to just go back there and give up on the rest of the world.”

“Must be rough to be homesick for the Free Marches.”

“It’s easier when I meet someone from home. That usually helps.”

“Might be easier to help if you were closer.”

Del’s smile only brightened as he moved over, stopping in front of Samson. “Like this?”

“Almost.” Samson snuffed out his pipe, putting it away before pulling Del to him. “Now you just need a distraction.” He never imagined trying this with someone so very pretty. He could feel the mage’s warm skin under his fingers as he gripped Del’s hips. “A kiss maybe. Do you want one?”

“I want one,” Del said, a little breathless. As if this was a delightful experience. Something surprising and good that he’d been hoping for ever since he’d locked eyes with Samson in the tavern.

So really what choice did Samson have but to kiss him soundly? He let his hands slide down to Del’s lower back. His lips pressed firmly against Del’s, letting them smirk slightly at the enthusiasm this incited in the kiss he was getting in return. The kiss continued until he felt the mage go a bit weak in the knees. Then he eased up, smirking when it ended and Del’s fingers were resting against his chest.

“I changed my mind,” Del said. “I want a dozen.”

“You can have more, I suppose,” Samson said before kissing Del again. He was sweet and warm and it was, well, it was nice.

And soon Del was wrapped around Samson, fingers curling in his hair.

Samson hoisted Del up into his arms. Then he kissed him with a bit more force, growling out a groan when Del bit at his lips. It was as if they’d been doing this for good long while, and they understood how they fit together without having to work at it even remotely.

“You have a room?” Samson asked.

“No. I’m in the stables. Or the kitchen floor if there’s room.”

“I have a room. Want to see it?”

“Yes but… I don’t have a lot of coin and… Your friend...”

“Don’t worry about the coin. Or my friend.” Samson kissed Del’s cheek as he set him down. He rummaged around his pocket until he found the key to his room. “Here. Second floor, fourth door on the left. I’ll sort my friend out and join you.”

“Promise?”

“Do I seem like the greatest fool in all of Thedas?”

Del laughed. “I’m sorry, just… I don’t know why I asked that.”

But Samson did. He didn’t regret anything given how little they had done. He wasn’t going to regret kissing Del time and time again once he had him up to his rooms, but it wouldn’t be as much as either of them preferred. He couldn’t have a fling with this warm, sweet mage. Not when Del was so alone. Not when he wanted security and reassurances. It felt… No, it most certainly would be taking advantage. 

Del frowned worriedly. “I ruined it. Just now. Didn’t I?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Samson sighed, brushing back a stray lock of Del’s hair.

Del jerked away from him as though bitten. “Don’t,” he said, shoving at Samson’s shoulders when Samson moved to follow him.

“No, listen,” Samson said, gently taking Del’s hands in his.

“To what? You tell me how I don’t know what I want? To point out how stupid I am—”

“No,” Samson insisted. “Nothing like that. Listen to me, all right? Stay with me. Come upstairs. Be with me if you want. I want that. How could I not?”

“You don’t—”

Samson tugged Del into another kiss. He added his tongue, deepening it and savoring the small moan he got for his troubles.

“I want you. I want to kiss every inch of you,” he said hoarsely. He also also a bit distracted by the way Del was suddenly stroking his cheek. “Over and over again. I want to hold you down, of course, I do. I want to feel the weight of you underneath me, catching each little sound you make until I’ve gotten everything you have to give me. But that’s all I can take from you tonight. That’s all we can give each other for now, understand?”

Del bit his lip, fighting back a whimper. “I don’t… Then… I didn’t ruin it?”

“Nothing’s ruined,” Samson insisted. “Not even one thing, but you don’t want me to fuck you and leave you. You don’t. If I know that’s true only minutes after meeting you, you must know that about yourself.”

Del looked down. “I do know that.”

Samson tilted Del’s chin up and kissed him again. “Go in then, and I’ll find you. I promise.”

*

Rutherford was drinking with some soldiers, and most likely they would end up playing Wicked Grace for hours on end.

“Get your own room,” Samson said, leaning over the table to rifle through the other man’s pocket. He needed the spare key, after all. 

“What are you— Oh,” Rutherford said, turning beet red and looking mortified as some of the soldiers snickered. “Maker, Sam, you might have asked. And what do you mean get another room?”

“I mean mine’s full now. Drinks on me though.” He tossed down some coins, and left them without waiting for another reply.

He took the stairs quickly, and found the room. The door was, as he suspected it would be, locked.

Del was sitting on the end of the bed. His feet were tucked up underneath him and his hair over one shoulder. He had been fretting or something close to it. “I wasn’t sure… That is, I didn’t know…”

Samson kissed him, brushing his hair back with several fingers. “Where you are won’t do. Boots off. Covers off the bed. Get further on the mattress. Closer to the pillows. Then lay back.”

“What else should I do?”

“Trust me,” he said, not meaning for his voice to sound both rough and tender. But if it did, what of it? Del was nervous. Likely he’d never done this sort of thing before, and was wondering if he’d made the right decision. “And leave the rest to me.”

Samson cleared out his own pockets as Del unlaced his boots. They were dark blue leather and worn. Then Del moved the blanket and top sheet out of the way, his ears coloring as he got back into the bed.

“Cold?” Samson asked.

“No.”

“Warm up the sheets anyway. We’re both going to be wearing less if that suits you.”

“Oh, it does,” Del quietly admitted.

Samson shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it towards a small table near the bed. “Good. Breathe.”

Del huffed, biting his lip. “I’m not as nervous as all that.”

Samson moved to the bed, kissing Del before working on the leather buckles and cotton laces of Del’s threadbare tunic. He felt something… He shooed it away as best he could, but it was there. A strange sort of wish or hope that he could have done without.

“What are you thinking?” Del asked.

“You first.”

Del laughed but he didn’t argue. “This is a good look for you. Shirtless, I mean.”

“You’re lucky you met me when you did then. I was scrawnier in Kirkwall.” Thin and pale and gloomy. Bloodshot eyes from overwork and lack of lyrium. Craving dust with every breath, and fighting against darker urges to do whatever it took to get more. Cassandra’s training and Rutherford’s support had changed all of that. “Not much to look at.”

“Well, you’re quite the view here in Ferelden,” Del said cheerfully. “Now you. What were you thinking?”

“I _am_ thinking that you need new clothes.”

“It’s on the list of things to get once I have the money for it. And don’t.”

“Don’t?”

Del leaned up, kissing Samson’s cheek. “It’s on the tip of your tongue to offer to help me. To get me new boots. A new wardrobe. Bless you for being so sweet, but I’m doing just fine. More than fine at the moment.”

Samson grunted, wishing he could at least buy Del a new shirt and just be done with the one that was being so very uncooperative. At last, he managed to undo the last clasp. He gently pulled Del to him in order to remove it.

“You’re just pretty all over,” he said, ducking his head and kissing at Del’s chest. “Aren’t you?” He gently maneuvered Del back and then pushed him down to the mattress. Samson followed him there, wrapping his fingers around Del’s wrists. He let his knees box in Del’s hips as he straddled him. “Let’s see how it looks when you’re writhing underneath me, hm?” he asked, kissing one of Del’s bare shoulders.

Del gasped when Samson’s teeth grazed his neck. He started squirming but he ultimately relaxed into Samson’s tight grip when it was clear Samson had no intention of biting him.

“I’m not very sweet to most people, I hope you know that,” Samson murmured, moving to Del’s collarbone. He kissed further down, licking at Del’s nipples before kissing lower. “But you… Well, I have to be sweet, don’t I? Especially when you’re so very good. You can make more noise, you know.”

Del groaned quietly, gasping and turning a lovely shade of pink. He tugged only once, trying to free a hand but he stopped when Samson shushed him.

Samson imagined he wanted to cover his eyes with his forearm. But Samson didn’t want to be deprived of the dreamy look that was already there. “None of that,” he said soothingly, “I want to see you.”

“I should… What do I…”

“Exactly what you’re doing. You’re perfect.”

“I feel…”

“Good. Keep doing that,” Samson suggested, kissing back down Del’s chest. “Just. Feel. The rest I’ll handle. This is all we’re doing, but you’re mine and I’m having you.”

“Please,” Del said quietly, his blue eyes soft and hopeful. “You could have me. I want…”

“Let’s wait,” Samson murmured, unsure why he wanted to. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to wait that he kept insisting upon it.

No one had claimed Del yet, had they? No one else had seen this boy and realized they needed him. Samson could have him. That much he knew even without Del pleading for it. Samson had never felt so close and yet so far away from what he wanted. But there was having and there was keeping. And then there was deserving. They were all different things, and it wasn’t right. Surely, it wasn’t right for him to offer more nothing to someone who already had nothing in spades? Even if it felt like he could offer Del something, even if having Del seemed like the only thing worth… Well, having. At least at that exact moment.

“Meet me again at the Conclave,” Samson added, kissing Del all the while. As he continued, he stroked the inside of Del’s wrists with his fingers. “Decide there along with the rest of it.”

“Hm. And make a difference even if it’s a small one?”

Samson kissed Del’s lips, trying to capture the smile there. “Right.”

*

Early in the morning, before the sun had even considered wishing the world a good morning, Samson woke up feeling immediately and keenly miserable. Even more so when he glanced down at Del. His arms were around Samson, warm hands touching. Del’s head was tucked under his, resting against Samson’s chest. He was beautiful awake, and he was even more so asleep. His hair was spread out, gold in the dark, and…

Samson got out of the bed before the aching in his chest and the pounding in his head got any worse. He washed his face in a basin of lukewarm water and pulled on a new shirt. Then he went out, slowly closing the door and locking it securely behind him.

Samson was not, as a general rule, in favor of fresh air. However, it couldn’t hurt so he went for an actual walk around quiet cottages and shops before heading into the forest.

 _Oh, don’t let’s have sex with him_ , he thought darkly. _Don’t do that. Just kiss him for hours on end and hold him. Let him say your name like it’s a prayer. Wake up with his warm hands touching yours and his limbs wrapped around you. That won’t do anything stupid to your insides. This is why whores ask you not to kiss them or for more coin. This is exactly why._

 _And now what? See you at the Conclave. Excellent notion. Brilliant move. See you at the Conclave. See you in a fucking month. Hope you don’t meet someone who has sense enough to plow you into a mattress and keep you between then and now._

How was Del to even get there? Magic? Samson sighed, rubbing his forehead. Brainless. Absolutely brainless. And Rutherford had thought the boy was stupid.

Well, Samson had coin and he didn’t need it. He could leave some —all of it— then leave before Del woke up… And wouldn’t that be lovely? Del waking up to more coins than he could count and some insipid note in chicken scratch saying I’ll see you around? No, he couldn’t just do that, not really. 

Samson sat down on a fallen log once he found a clearing. He eyed the mist and the moss with disdain. Maker, he missed Kirkwall. He hated all of this nature, could already feel his eyes watering already from all the pollen in the air.

Out of the corner of his eye, amidst all of the shades of green and brown, he spotted something pale blue. Flowers of some kind. He didn’t know shite about flowers, but they were pretty and they were something you could give to someone. Maybe this and the coins and a proper goodbye?

That was, he imagined, what Maddox would do. Then again Maddox would never have made this so damned complicated. He’d gone and fallen in love with the first girl he’d ever held an actual conversation with. And look where it had gotten him — happy and contented for the rest of his days.

Well, he’d do what Maddox would do. It was better than asking… No, he would have sooner died than asked Rutherford for advice. Explaining this situation would never do.

He picked a flower and then three more. It wasn’t one, and it wasn’t a bouquet. It was somewhere in between, and that seemed right. As right as anything could be when he felt that he was going about whatever this was the entirely wrong way.

The inn was still quiet and the sun seemed to be debating rising at all, but Del was awake, because of course he was. He hadn’t moved much, but he was sitting up against the wooden headboard on the bed. It was easy to tell what he’d been thinking seeing as he was wrapped up in a blanket looking as if he’d been personally forsaken by the Maker.

“You left,” he managed when Samson sat down on the bed.

“Went for a walk. Here.”

Del took the flowers uncertainly. His hands, Samson noticed were trembling again. 

Samon took up the one that wasn’t holding flowers, kissing the back of it and then each finger one by one. “I’m sorry,” he said because he was.

“I misunderstood,” Del said, trying, bless him, to seem reassured. It only made Samson feel infinitely worse. “But you’re leaving anyway. I mean, not this second, but you are. Soon.”

“I’ll see you, remember? The Conclave. I meant it.”

“I thought you’d meant it last night too.”

“And now you don’t?”

Del blinked, looking up at last. “What? No, I still believe it. I mean, you… Should I not?”

Samson hesitated, but he rather liked the idea of meeting up. He liked the idea of having this again. “You should. I did.”

He blinked himself when Del moved into his lap. Del let the flowers fall onto a pillow as he put his arms around Samson’s neck. “I could always just go with you now. I won’t… I won’t beg or anything. Just… I thought I should say as much. But I can prove myself to you. I’ll be there. I promise.”

Samson swallowed hard. “I’ll be there too.” He didn’t add that he had to, that being there was his job. And he didn’t ask Del to come with although he was sorely tempted. He just played with Del’s hair, letting the mage rest his head against his shoulder.

“I have to go,” Del said after awhile. His voice sounded a bit strangled, but then it was also muffled so maybe that was it. He gathered up the flowers after putting on his tunic and boots.

“Here,” Samson said, rising to his feet and getting out his coin purse. “This isn’t for clothes. Not for boots. Not because of last night. Not for anything else but so you can meet me. So I can see you again.”

“I don’t want this,” Del said quietly, “but all right.” He let Samson close his fingers around the purse strings. Then he kissed Samson’s cheek, turning away quickly.

It should have been obvious, all things considered, but it suddenly struck him that Del was upset. And not just a little. “This isn’t… Del, I’m not trying to…” But trying or not, he had hurt him just the same. “I _will_ see you there,” Samson finished rather lamely.

“In a month,” Del said with a quiet sigh. “And you’ll see me but will you want to?”

“Of course I will. How many beautiful mages do you think I kiss on the regular?”

Del swiped at his face, his posture tense and his expression angry. “How the hell should I know?” he snapped.

Samson closed the distance between them. “Just you,” he said quietly. “Can’t remember the last person I kissed before you. It was that long ago. They were that unimportant.”

Del inhaled slowly and exhaled sharply. “Really?”

“Really. A month won’t change anything. It won’t make me want to kiss you any less. Or know what your full name is. Or learn more about you. It’s because of you I noticed those flowers. They’re the same color as your eyes or…close enough. Hard to tell when you’re all squinty.”

Del sniffed but managed a small smile. “They’re called crystal grace. The flowers.”

“Suits them.” _Suits you._ “And I will see you.”

“You will,” Del agreed.

Samson pulled him closer and into a chaste kiss. Then he let him go. He stood there and watched him leave.

Downstairs, Rutherford was already eating breakfast. Some young girl was serving the tables and, like the blasted fool he was, Rutherford noted the ease with which she’d waited on him.

Samson said nothing, and he went to the bar to fetch his own coffee.

“Why was I kicked out of our room?” Rutherford asked. “And why were you wandering around with flowers earlier.”

“Wasn’t me,” Samson insisted. “That’s the ghost of the old mill. He killed young ladies, and now he wanders the twilight hours, clutching flowers for each of his victims.”

Rutherford frowned before rolling his eyes. “It was you. I know it was. Who were the flowers for? Not me, I take it.”

“I know it’s difficult to grasp this, you being so irresistible and all, but I’m just not that attracted to you.”

“They weren’t for that server from last night, were they?” Rutherford’s eyes narrowed. “Were you… Surely not.”

Samson just grunted.

“Really, Sam, not with him. Not with that simple sort from Maker-knows-where. Haven’t you more sense?”

“We had a good time. Leave it at that.”

“Speaking of,” Rutherford said, “the boy seemed to be leaving in a hurry. Snapped something awful at me when I asked after some service. You’d think he was too good to do his job.”

Samson considered this, slowly sipping his coffee. He stretched his feet out, quickly bashing the left into Rutherford’s chair. He watched the man flail and topple over backwards with vague disinterest. “Clumsy me,” he muttered.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first in a series that is basically albeit not entirely TCRegan's fault. The next chapter will be posted tomorrow, and the last chapter will be posted on Monday.
> 
> Thank you, Tigercule, for the beta. And TCRegan for reading it over. :D


	2. Chapter 2

*

“We are discussing that incident back at the inn,” Rutherford said as they rode along. To his credit, he had given Samson a half an hour of silence, but then, Samson had lied and said he had a headache.

“Must we?”

“You shoved me right out of my chair.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Look, I’m sorry about whatever it is I said that offended you... But what was it?”

“I told you. I had a good time with him. And I’ve told you how I feel about you and your foot-mouth disease.”

“All right. So he wasn’t simple then?”

“Less so than you.” _Or me for letting him go._ “He was a mage.”

“No. Really?” Rutherford asked, frowning. “Where’s he gone off to? Maker… He didn’t steal anything from you, did he? We could find—”

“He didn't steal from me. He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t anything like you seem to imagine all mages to be.”

Rutherford rolled his eyes. “Fine. You gave him your coin purse.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I have you to pay for anything I need, don’t I, love?”

Rutherford made a face. “All right. So you put our rooms to good use then. I suppose I can appreciate that,” he decided as if somehow this would matter at all to his companion. “And you didn’t make me come back to the room and watch, which was for the best. Although he was awfully pretty… You might have offered—”

“He wasn’t like that either. He wasn’t for sharing, arsehole.”

“He might have considered—”

“So help me, I’m going to kick you off your horse if you continue,” Samson said before scowling as he realized exactly what he’d done.

Rutherford was grinning triumphantly. “I knew it. You like him.”

“Might.”

“You do. You brought him flowers.”

“Might have done.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Sam…”

“Look, things aren’t… Just because you meet someone. Just because you like them… It doesn’t change how the world is.”

“It’s fairly significant. I should think it changes everything.”

Samson scowled. “What are you on about now?”

“Love.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Samson said, spurning his horse onwards.

Rutherford caught up to him quite easily. “Why can’t it be love? Why won’t you tell me about him? I told you about them. Surana. And Amell. I know what it’s like to feel a certain way about someone. I know what it’s like to regret.”

“You don’t miss either one of them here and now.”

“Of course I do. I am sorry for what happened to her. I thought he was sweet. Dangerous later on, but… I rather wish we’d parted on better terms. I wish I’d… Well, probably I wished what you wish now. That you’d have kept him with you.”

“Your puppy dog days of idle affection are nothing compared to what I am experiencing.”

“I knew it.”

“You knew that I was experiencing nothing? Then why are we still talking?” Samson demanded. “Because it is nothing. Nothing at all.”

“And if he happened to be, oh I don’t know, over on the next ridge, you wouldn’t mind if I rode over and told him how little he meant to you?”

Samson looked ahead, groaning when there was nothing ahead of them besides more rocks.

“I thought so. You should ride back and find him.”

“I should do nothing of the sort.”

Rutherford frowned. “You don’t care that he’s a mage, do you?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Then what is it? What’s stopping you exactly?”

“He’ll be at the Conclave. I’ll see him then.”

“That’s a month away assuming everything is on schedule, which I rather doubt. It might be two months. Even three.”

“It bloody well won’t.”

“I don’t understand. You wouldn’t bring him with, you won’t go back for him…”

Samson shrugged.

“But why? Because punishing yourself and him is…what? A thing to do? Because you so stubbornly refuse to believe that people can spontaneously develop feelings that you’re willing to deny your own in order to be right?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Samson lied. “There weren’t that many feelings to be had. We’ll meet again, and I left, didn’t I? I sent him off and then I left. That was a choice I made.”

“Change your damn mind,” Rutherford suggested. “It’s your prerogative seeing as it’s your own mind. Aren’t you always telling me that?”

Samson shrugged again.

“You don’t even believe in luck and here you are testing it. How many chances do you think men like us get, Sam?”

“It’s not about the chances I get. It’s about his. A boy like that could have anyone and a boy like that… Well, he wants anyone. If he’s there at the Conclave, if he really wants something with someone like me, then that’s one thing. If he doesn’t then, it’s all for the best.” He waited for some sort of reply, but when he looked at Rutherford, the man just seemed disgusted and perhaps a bit pained. “What?”

“You don’t always get a second chance. Sometimes people die before you can tell them how much they mean. Or they grow up and change. They become a hero in a story where you’re just a minor obstruction. And you can’t do anything later on. You can only think about what you might have said. What you might have been. But you are only what you are.”

Samson sighed heavily. “Those are your stories, Cullen. I’m sorry they’re what you have, but that doesn’t make them mine.”

“I should say not. You can’t have a story if you run away at the start of it.”

“I’m not running. I’m not.”

“But you’re not going back either.” Rutherford eyed Samson thoughtfully, which was always a bit dangerous. It meant something brainless or heartfelt was on its way. “Was he… Maker, was he that bad at it? Were you?”

Brainless then. “At what now?”

“The… you know. The sex.”

Samson barked out a laugh. “Oh, just shut it, Rutherford.”

*

Haven was full of their soldiers and tents, but it seemed just like any other Fereldan town to Samson. He was more concerned about the temple, searching the rooms and making sure there weren’t any surprises alongside soldiers. Servants cleaned as well. Sections of the temple had been sealed off before their arrival, and many passages were in the process of being sealed off when he had finally arrived.

Cassandra seemed concerned about maintaining any sort of order, but the Divine seemed to believe that faith and sense of purpose would keep the entire thing from descending into chaos.

In terms of those in the temple, it would be the delegates she had sent for and some representatives of various interested parties. Then it would be a matter of allowing for as many others as the temple would hold. Lesser important guests or those who had arranged their own curious pilgrimage were welcome to remain at larger campsites although considering the size of the temple, it seemed likely that more would find their way in.

Patrolling the grounds was far more important than attending the Conclave. Samson was only too willing to join Cassandra, Rutherford, and the others in keeping watch on campsites and additional people. On horseback, he made wide circles around Haven and the temple during the days leading up to the Conclave itself.

It wasn’t until the very day, the morning of the event that Samson saw him. Or, rather, learned where members of the Ostwick Circle were as they made their way towards the Temple.

Del looked the same, and of course he did. It had only been a month. His clothes were new, however, and perhaps a bit warmer.

Samson wanted to call out to him, but he felt foolish, paralyzed by a sudden surge of happiness and turmoil.

Del, however, was not so conflicted, and when he called out Samson’s name, not a single mage seemed to pay it much attention.

Samson couldn’t steer his horse through the crowds for it seemed as though everyone in the world seemed to be headed for the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He gritted his teeth in frustration, wishing he could dismount and go to him, but he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t let him.

Del smiled, and then he waved.

It wasn’t enough, not even nearly enough, but it seemed it was all Samson could get for the time being. He waved back.

Another mage, a young woman with dark hair, said something to Del who waved again somewhat sadly. He inclined his head in the direction of the temple, looking both questioning and hopeful.

Samson shook his head, mouthing the word later and hoping it was understand. Later. They could find each other later. His job was not climb up to the Temple. Samson would find Del later in the day, and he would do something besides hold him only to let him go. There would be time.

He watched Del disappear, heading up a snowy path with the other mages. He drove his horse away, suddenly restless and more than a little angry. Why wasn’t he just going to him now? There were thousands of people assembled. It was ridiculous to think they’d find each other again. Pointless.

Hours later, when there was a green hole in the sky and an unfathomable number of dead templars and mages, Samson had never hated himself so much for being right.

Ignoring whatever tasks might have been assigned for him, he went back to Haven. He rode his horse right up to the empty tavern, wandering inside and pouring himself a drink. It was grimly silent, which suited him just fine.

“Sam,” Rutherford said, sitting down at the bar. “There you are. You can’t just keep riding off like that, you know.”

“Here I am,” Samson said, downing some of his beer. “Here you are. Haven living up to its name for what? A dozen of us. It’s just wonderful.”

“I was at the chantry with Cassandra and Leliana and the rest of us. There’s more of those green rifts showing up all over. According to what few reports we’ve received. It’s… No one is sure what to do just yet.”

“Yes, well, why should today be any fucking different?” he growled out, batting Rutherford’s hand away when came to rest on his shoulder.

“Today is…” Rutherford sighed heavily. “Today is different. Today changes… Well, everything, but what troubles me is that you’re not upset about that. You’re upset about something else entirely.”

“I am upset about most everything at the moment,” Samson corrected. “People can do that, you know? Multitask their misery. It’s the easiest thing in the world.”

“Come on, Sam. I know you a bit better than that. I’m not going to leave here, thinking you’re behaving this way over nothing and everything. Drinking isn’t usually your thing either. I suppose I should be grateful it’s only beer and not… You know.”

“I know,” Samson said, “and I’ve barely had a drink. I don’t want to forget anything. I want to remember.”

“But what is it you want to remember?”

“Failure. I’d forgotten, you see. I forgot. I had one good moment a month ago. I thought I could wait and it could replicate itself, spawning other little moments that wouldn’t hurt me. I thought… Fuck what I thought. Fuck thinking. A man should do things. I should have done something.”

“A month ago? Do you mean… That mage from… Was he at the Conclave? Sweet Andraste.”

“There is nothing sweet about her.”

“Sam—”

“Don’t Sam me,” Samson said in a growl. “Watch what I say. Watch what I do. Mind my manners. Mind my step. What is She or He going to do about it, eh? What else can—”

The door of the tavern swung open hard, bouncing off the wall as Cassandra peered in. “There you two are,” she said. “There is a survivor, and if you are done sulking like children, we will need guards.”

*

Samson followed slowly behind Cassandra and Rutherford, only mildly curious. After all, some sort of explanation of what had happened would have been mildly interesting. It didn’t change anything, however. His small loss, which was more of a loss of possibilities than anything he’d possessed, was still real. Thedas’ loss remained the same.

An elf moved towards them, his clothes were plain and he had a mage staff. He was taking no effort to hide the fact that he was an apostate. “I am Solas. I would like to offer my assistance for the man you would take prisoner,” he said, tone calm and lilting. “He is of more importance than you know.”

“I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. With me, are Cullen and Samson,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms. “This survivor, this prisoner, is the key to learning what happened at the Conclave. What could be more important?”

Solas glanced up meaningfully towards the sky above then back to them. The breech was crackling and sizzling violent green. “Time is something we do not have. Nor does he.”

“He has been brought to the chantry. To a cell. You may see him there if you wish.”

“If I must.”

Cassandra had clearly been hoping he would refuse. She muttered something to herself and debated silently then: “Very well, but should you fail to prove useful to us, you will leave.”

“I understand.”

“Seems like enough of us are going,” Samson muttered. “Waste of resources, you might say.”

Cassandra scowled at him. “You will be stationed outside of his cell for the duration of his stay if you so much as glance back at the pint you have left behind you. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, Seeker.”

As they walked, Rutherford moved to join Cassandra, whispering urgently to her. About him no doubt.

Samson took his time, frowning as Solas began to walk alongside him. “I’m Samson,” he said after awhile. “In case you’re wondering. Other one’s Cullen.”

“You are not interested in this survivor or anything else.”

“I am not, but you won’t pry answers out of me.”

“I would not. In truth, there is no need. Your pain seems raw and real enough as it is.”

Samson did not correct him, but he didn’t say anything else.

They headed down stone stairs into the belly of the chantry. Two young recruits met them halfway.

“He’s sleeping, “ one of them said. “We carried him as best we could. Added the manacles like you said only… On his hand… He’s got something wrong with him.”

“And the healer?”

“He’s been sent for, Seeker,” said the other soldier.

“Who is with him now?”

They looked from one to the other.

Cassandra glared at them until they darted away. She stormed past them into the dungeons with Rutherfood at her boot heels.

“Well, they’re new,” Samson said. “I’m surprised Varric isn’t here at least. Might have to send someone looking for him.”

“Who is Varric?” Solas asked.

“Resident busybody and storyteller. He always shows up where he isn’t wanted. I’m imagining you’re the same?”

Solas smiled and shrugged. “It is,” he said, “a distinct possibility.”

Rutherford ran back to them, grabbing at Samson as he skidded to a halt. “You have to see this. Him, I mean.”

“Hideous, is he?”

“Sam, it’s… Maker, I don’t know his name… Your mage.”

Samson swallowed hard. “You’re not funny. Not even a little.”

“I am your friend, you insufferable ass,” Rutherford said, angrily offended. “I would never. Come see for yourself, will you?”

Samson reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged past empty cells and towards the center of the dungeons.

And there Del was. He was sleeping, biting his lip and whimpering a bit as his hand…

“Same green as the sky,” Samson muttered, before sinking to his knees. He touched Del’s forehead. His skin was clammy and feverish. “This is what I get,” he said softly, “for letting you out of my sight, isn’t it?”

“You know this man?” Cassandra asked. “Tell me.”

“I know him,” Samson confirmed without so much as glancing up. “His name’s Del. He’s from the Ostwick Circle. You don’t need these cuffs for him.”

“He is the sole survivor of the greatest disaster of our time,” Cassandra said harshly. “He may have killed—”

“He did not,” Samson growled out, finally looking up. “He would never. He’s just a boy, Cassandra.”

“How well do you truly know him, Samson? Del is barely a first name. It is certainly not a glowing recommendation.”

“We never asked for his last name,” Rutherford said, offering up a sheepish look as they both glared at him. “We met him briefly about a month ago. Samson spent more time with him, but he was a friendly sort. Young. I highly doubt he is a threat. Those that brought him to us say a woman helped him out of the Fade. A woman, Cassandra.”

She snorted, looking skeptical and frustrated. The loss of the Divine was a personal failing for her, and she was still reeling from it.

“There is no time for this,” Solas said quietly. “Harmless or no, this boy might very well save us all but not if we fail him now.”

Samson glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“He is quite ill, and without treatment, he may die. I must tend to him without interruption and without these arguments. The mark on his hand is unstable. So is the hole in the sky. Therefore the color, as Samson has pointed out, is no mere coincidence.”

“I’ll stay,” Samson said. “Keep guard. Keep silent. Whatever you need.”

“I will see what is keeping the healer,” Rutherford offered. “Adan, I think his name was.”

“I will look into other matters,” Cassandra said, setting a hand on Samson’s shoulder and handing him a small key. “For his chains. I will trust your judgment. We will all monitor this situation, of course. I will revisit the issue of what will become of him, what his role will be, once he awakens. For now there is little for us to do it seems but to hope.”

As she left, Samson worked on gently removing the manacles from Del’s wrists. “Will that be enough?” he asked Solas. “The healer and you, I mean?”

“Most assuredly. Although I should prefer to work alone if the healer cannot assist me,” Solas said, crouching down before sitting next to Del.

“I can get him water at least.”

“Food as well,” Solas said. “He will have to be fed, and I should like to eat.” He took Del’s hand in his, examining the back of it. Then he glanced up. “I believe that your presence, while of no immediate use, is a beneficial one.”

“Right.” Samson set the cuffs down, brushing back Del’s hair before he got to his feet. “You don’t need to humor me, Solas.”

“I do not.”

“I think you do,” Samson said. “I can’t do a damn thing here besides fetch and carry.”

“What he has experienced before exiting the Fade... What he will face upon waking... It is beyond our understanding. Perhaps it will prove to be beyond his as well.”

“That’s where I come in, is it?”

“We take comfort in the familiar, in that which gives us strength.”

Samson sighed. “I’m not that to him. Not comfort. Not familiar.” _I had a chance to be,_ he thought. _I suppose I have it still._

“You wish to be,” Solas said. “That is how it starts.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry had to fix the formatting and repost.
> 
> Thank you, Tigercule, for the beta. And TCRegan for reading it over. :D


	3. Chapter 3

*

True to his word, Samson did his best to fetch and carry. He stood guard over Del, bringing blankets, water, and whatever else was sent for. He stood watch over Solas as well, forcing soldiers to give the apostate a wide berth. The glowers and glares he offered up were far from forced. Samson was still furious that the first time he’d left the mages alone, he’d come back to find Solas’ staff had been confiscated.

In the middle of a bloody crisis, _that_ had been the steps soldiers had taken to protect themselves, taking away the staff of the only person who actually wanted to help them. An elven mage who didn’t have to even be there, who could have gone on his merry way and not done a damn thing. That was who they chose to fuck with. That Solas took it all in stride only made Samson angrier.

One day turned into two and somehow it was seven days before Del’s eyes fluttered open.

The color blue had never looked better, Samson thought, kneeling down. He brushed a hand through Del’s hair as the boy’s eyes skittered from wall to wall. Eventually they darted in his direction, blinking rapidly.

“Samson?” Del asked hoarsely.

“Still here,” Samson managed. “Told you I’d wait, didn’t I?” Del sat up and wrapped arms around him before Samson could do much of anything. “Hey, easy there,” he murmured, letting a hand wrap around Del’s shoulders. “Easy. It’s all right.”

Del kissed him fiercely, and Samson gently returned it. “I wanted to find you but there were so many people and then it was too late and I… Oh, hello.”

Samson wasn’t sure who Del was talking to at first, but then he remembered Solas was in the cell with them

“Hello,” Solas said, looking more than a little amused. “Samson is not the only one who waited, but he was the most eager to see you again. It’s quite plain that the Captain needs no introduction, but I am Solas.”

“I’m Del.”

“Any chance you’d give us more of a name than that?” Samson asked. “Not so much for my sake, mind, as… Well, it’s a long story.”

“Del Trevelyan,” was the reluctant answer. “What’s a long story? What’s happened?”

In short order, it became readily apparent that, save a handful of preliminary discussions, Del knew absolutely nothing about the Conclave. He didn’t burst into tears exactly, but learning how it all had turned up had resulted in his sniffling quite a bit. But then he’d lost a great deal of friends.

Wiping at his eyes, Del had noticed the mark on his hand, which was more difficult to explain. And as it cracked and fizzled green, Del seemed a bit frightened, but then the mark was hurting him.

Solas, who had been very matter-of-fact up to that point, was rather vague with details save for his theory that the breach in the sky connected directly to the mark Del had. He didn’t say Del was still quite probably dying, didn’t try to make a big deal out of anything. He just patiently explained what little he did know until Cassandra arrived.

To say Cassandra wasn’t happy was to say that grass was green and water was wet. She stood in the doorway leading into the dungeons, brow furrowing as she studied them.

Del was in Samson’s lap by that point, leaning against Samson’s chest and one shoulder, listening to Solas. Samson was running a hand through Del’s hair and he imagined he’d been smiling before he saw Cassandra. A rather mortifying thought. As Samson’s mother, may the maggots enjoy their desserts, had been so very fond of saying to her only son, smiling was for people with better teeth.

“The… survivor is awake, I see,” Cassandra said as she moved into the room.

“Just recently,” Solas said. “It would be best to bring him to the rifts and then to the breach.”

“What has he said about the Conclave?”

Del hadn’t moved from his spot, but he was willing to get to his feet when Samson gently hauled him up. He looked to Cassandra, uncertain and a little intimidated. “I don’t… I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything.”

“You believe this,” Cassandra said, eying Samson imperiously.

Samson shrugged. “I do.”

She made a disgusted noise.

“Look, Cassandra…” When they’d first met, he’d considered at first referring to her by her last name as was his habit. But hers was a mouthful and sounded like he was spitting up something awful. So he stuck with Cassandra or Seeker when necessary. “Seems a hell of a thing to make up when he could tell us anything at all. He’s honest, and his story only proves it.”

“I’m not sure you are thinking clearly.”

“And I don’t know if you’re keeping the big picture in mind here. I haven’t said anything because you’re in charge, but I’ll be damned if—”

Cassandra held up a hand. “It is obvious,” she said, “that an interrogation would serve only to antagonize you. Solas has told us ever since he arrived that we’ve too little time. I do see that, Samson. I see it whenever I look up the sky, and so it would best to bring him outside.”

Del sighed. “I have a name, you know, and I’d like to learn yours.”

Introductions were made, formal and stiff. Nothing about it was hostile so much as it just seemed they weren’t sure what to make of each other. Del seemed to consider holding out his hand at one point, but there was another attack of green light, and he bit his lip, clenching it into a fist instead.

They moved through the Chantry after they found Del a coat to wear. Del did his best to keep up with them, but eventually he allowed Samson to half-carry him up the long set of stone stairs. Cassandra followed them, speaking in hushed tones to Leliana who had been lurking in a corridor. Solas moved on ahead, offering to explain the situation to Varric and to meet them at the first of a series of rifts.

Outside, Del stared up at the heavens, frowning and wincing. He clutched at Samson’s arm in either alarm or in an effort to remain upright. Or both. “That’s…”

“From the Conclave. We think.”

“I wish I’d gone to you,” Del said quietly. “I wish… How did I survive this?”

“A woman pulled you out of the Fade, that’s about all we know.”

“The Fade? I was physically in the Fade? But…” Del looked down at his hands. “That’s not possible.”

“Apparently it is, and… I can’t say that I mind.”

Del managed a weak smile as they resumed walking. He moved slowly, first with support and then on his own. Samson offered him water and some of the balm the healer had made for Del’s cracked lips.

Samson caught him when the bridge beneath them began crumbling, setting Del on his feet before dashing off after Cassandra to fight sloth demons.

Chain lightning followed by a fireball made short work of them. It also indicated that, while Del needed time to recover, his magic was doing just fine.

Cassandra came at him angrily demanding the staff before Samson caught up to her.

Staring at the ground, Del handed it over immediately. When she continued to speak to him, Del darted away from her and he ran to Samson, clinging at him.

Samson sighed. “He helped us, you know.”

“He should not be picking up weapons without explicit instructions to do so.”

“Well, scaring him isn’t going to help matters,” Samson said, feeling a little ridiculous as Cassandra regarded him as if he, personally, was the source of all her troubles. Perhaps he was, but if he hadn’t been there, did she really think the mage would have stopped running away from her? Then again, Del seemed to be coughing and gasping a bit so the odds were good that he wouldn’t have made it past the tree line.

“We know next to nothing about this boy,” Cassandra said.

“Maybe you ought to work on building up some trust, eh? You can’t just yell and leave him defenseless or this is what happens,” Samson said. He put an arm around Del since the mage was clutching at him like a prized stuffed toy. “And it’s all right, you,” he added, kissing Del’s hair. “It’s all right.”

Cassandra scowled. “Here,” she said, moving to them. Del glanced up and she shoved the staff into his hands. “I am sorry to have frightened you. I shall locate Solas and Varric.”

Del watched her go before turning back to Samson. He seemed troubled. “I don’t know anything, I don’t. And I didn’t mean to do anything but then they were attacking you… I thought…”

“I know,” Samson assured him. “I appreciate the assist, or the demon roast if you like.”

Del chuckled quietly then sniffed.

“Cassandra does too.”

“She does not,” Del said, sounding wounded that Samson would try to tell him something so utterly untrue.

“She does though,” Samson insisted. “She was trying to be nice, you know, giving that back to you. And with everything going on… We’re none of us at our best right now, Del.”

“I’m certainly not,” Del agreed with a soft sigh. “I just don’t… I can’t, Samson. I can’t do this.”

“It’s a lot,” Samson admitted. “Sure, it is, but people don’t just come out of the Fade for no reason. So it must be that you can do this.”

“Because of the Maker or Andraste?”

“Because you came back.” _To me._ “Because you’re not going anywhere that I can’t follow or find you,” Samson growled out, surprised to find Del looked comforted and not startled by his tone. “All right?”

“All right.” Del touched Samson’s face, fingers brushed over the rough edges of his jaw and then his lips. “I missed you. I didn’t… There hasn’t been time to say it, but I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Then I thought I lost you.”

“You have me again,” Del said then he ducked his head, looking miserable. He didn’t seem to be one for disguising how he felt, but then where had it gotten Del so far? Alone for a month, nearly dead at a Conclave, and potentially still well on his way to dying before the day was out. “If, that is… I mean… If you want me. Still. Because I want you, and I… Please say something.”

Samson didn’t have it in him to not want Del. A small stubborn part of himself wished he was strong enough to push the mage away, and end it now because at this point if he wanted him, he was stuck with him. _That part of me,_ he thought, _has always been such an evil fucker_.

“I want you,” he admitted, tilting Del’s chin up. “Haven’t stopped. Wanted you that night. Wanted you so badly in the morning that I sent you away. I fucked up so badly letting you go.”

“And you’re glad to see me?” Del asked, closing his eyes. “Because I… If this is… If it ends, then I want someone to have been glad to see me.”

“If what ends?” Samson asked.

“Everything. I imagine that I am dying or that I might be soon. If the sky can’t be mended, then I’ll most certainly die, and it will be because of this,” Del said, opening his eyes and holding up his marked hand. “Or because of whatever is lurking up above us.”

“What are you even going on about? You’re not allowed to die the second I get you back,” Samson angrily replied. “That’s so fucking unfair that it’s entirely out of the question. And, yes, I am glad to see you, but that’ll change right quick if you so much as consider dying on me. Is that understood?”

“I… Yes?”

“Fucking mages and their fucking martyr complexes,” Samson muttered. He pulled gently away from Del, heading back towards the path. “Trying the very last of my patience, and for what? Verbal confirmation of shit they already know.”

Del had resumed following him, leaning a bit on his staff as they trudged through the snow. When Samson glanced back, Del was smiling at him again with a warm fondness as if, once again, Samson had done something particularly clever. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you are. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

*

Del sealed the first rift with help from Solas, his palm pressed to the green tear until it vanished.

“So,” Varric had asked as they got back on the path, “how did you meet Samson? There’s got to be a story there.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he never took his eyes off you. Slept with them open, I bet.”

“I hope he didn’t do that,” Del said with a worried frown, glancing at Samson. No doubt looking for signs of piss-poor rest of which, truth be told, there were many. “How long was I asleep?”

“A week,” Samson said.

“…oh.”

“So how’d you meet?” Varric asked again. “The more specific the better.”

“I… Isn’t that a bit personal?” Del asked. Samson suspected that he would probably end up babbling but he was attempting to do the right thing. He just had no idea what that was.

“Not among friends,” Solas suggested, lips quirking up into a small smirk before he went back to looking solemnly curious. The bastard.

“Well, then… “ And open wide went the floodgates of oversharing. “We met in the Bannorn. At night, and it was lovely. Samson was warm and kind and gentle and a good kisser. He was so sweet. He brought me flowers in—”

“Del, why don’t you come up here with me?” Samson suggested. “You should try to eat something, and really you ought to conserve your energy. There’s a lot to do yet.”

“Right. Sorry, Varric. Solas.” Del bounded up to Samson eagerly, taking the man’s arm in his. “Was that wrong?”

“No, uh, I guess not,” Samson said. What else was there to say when Del was staring up at him with such wide, pretty eyes?

Solas was looking pensive but it was absolutely a lie. Varric was smirking knowingly, and Cassandra had this soft expression that Samson had no idea what to do with. So he ignored them.

Their next stop involved Chancellor Roderick. He did his level best to undermine Del’s meager amount of confidence and trust in the entire operation with a whiny rant. And he ended it by suggestiong that Del be hauled off the Val Royeaux and promptly executed.

Samson responded to this by hauling the Chancellor up off of the ground. “Execute him when he’s the only thing between us and demons raining from the sky? There’s gratitude for you,” he growled out. “The good news,” he added, all but tossing the man back down, “the very best news I’ve heard all week, in fact, is that we don’t have to listen to you. So off you go.”

When it came time for second rift after their trek through the mountain pass, Del handled the tear easily. He also assisted with fighting off the demons.

Rutherford was grinning as his men regrouped. “He woke up! Your mage, I mean. Quite the sight for sore eyes, eh?”

Samson rubbed the back of his neck after he’d sheathed his sword and strapped his shield back on. Del was helping some of the soldiers get back to their feet nearby. “Yes, well…”

“Same as he was a month ago, really. Aw. Sweet Andraste, the way he smiles at you,” Rutherford said, admiring Del. Then he smirked at Samson. “I’m sure he isn’t simple, but it’s moments like this that force me to question the boy’s sanity if nothing else. I mean... Look at you.”

“I’ll shove you straight down the mountain, don’t think I won’t.”

“Was any more light shed on his name?”

“Got a bit more,” Samson admitted. “Trevelyan. Think it’s a Noble House back in the Free Marches. Have to ask Josephine.”

“It’s still just Del then? Maker… Del Trevelyan. Not a great name, and it almost rhymes.”

“Not sure someone named Cullen Stanton Rutherford gets to judge other people and their names.”

Rutherford frowned, crossing his arms. “Look, I know a name isn’t everything—”

“Do you now?”

“But his first name can’t just be an Antivan contraction meaning ‘of the.’ What can the rest of his name possibly be that he’s so ashamed of it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What about some insight into the Conclave then?”

“He doesn’t remember anything.”

“Doesn’t that concern you?” Rutherford asked, looking concerned enough for the pair of them. “How little you know about him? How little he knows about, well, anything at all?”

“Del’s not simple but he’s certainly not complicated. I like what I know. Don’t see why that should change.”

Rutherford shook his head. “Sam, you are truly bizarre when it comes to this mage.”

“Yes, well, he has a name, doesn’t he? And I don’t need to justify every single facet of my life to you, now do I?”

“You’re certain this man is your friend?” Del asked curiously as he joined them. “You don’t seem very friendly.”

“Oh, that’s how Samson is,” Rutherford said. “I wouldn’t pay it much heed.”

“Samson’s very friendly. I meant you,” Del replied stiffly. “You seem to be a bit antagonistic, serah, picking on him as you do. I don’t much care for it.”

Samson barked out a laugh.

Rutherford offered up a wounded expression. “You can’t be serious.”

Samson grinned as Del tugged on his arm. “He can be, I think you’ll find. Are we going then, Del? Don’t you want to learn my friend’s name?”

“Yes, we are, and…” The tugging stopped. “If I must.”

“Cullen Rutherford,” Samson said, introducing the other soldier.

“Del Trevelyan,” Del said with a small frown.

“What is Del short for exactly?” Rutherford asked.

Del sighed. “I’m leaving, Samson, I mean it.”

“Alright, I’m coming,” Samson said, ruffling Del’s hair and giving Rutherford a lazy salute. “Be seeing you.”

Rutherford just shook his head before helping one of the injured soldiers along.

“That back there… That’s just how we are,” Samson explained as they headed towards the Temple ruins. “Cullen’s a good man. You’ll like him eventually.”

Del shrugged. “If you say so.”

*

How, Samson wondered, had they missed this? Red lyrium was growing up out of the ground throughout what was left of the temple, and it couldn’t have sprouted overnight. The blue stuff he knew what to do with, but this…

It was difficult to navigate their way around the red veins. But then Varric had gone and complicated matters by insisting that no one touch the stuff.

Both of the mages were instantly curious. Solas crouched down, inspecting the red rock and frowning. When Del moved to join him, Samson herded him along, keeping himself between the mage and lyrium until they reached Leliana and her scouts.

“The mark will work from here,” Solas said as he looked up at the sky, hands clasped behind his back. “The distance will slow your progress, but that is all it will do.”

“But we should have brought a ladder,” Del said, looking up.

“Or a very, very tall person,” Varric agreed.

They moved a bit closer as Solas inspected the rift. Green crystals floated overhead, expanding and shrinking in the air above them. Del’s hand glowed green, and he gritted his teeth.

They heard voices. They saw the Divine, Del, and a shadowy figure with red eyes. A ritual of some sort with Justinia as the sacrifice. Just what was happening wasn’t entirely clear. However, it was apparent was that the role Del played was not one that involved assisting in the destruction of the Temple and everyone in it. He had tried, although without much in the way of success, to prevent what had happened. Whatever that was.

Cassandra was as frustrated as any of them, wishing to know what the visions ultimately meant. “What are we seeing?” she demanded.

Del shrank away from her. “I don’t know,” he said. “I truly don’t.”

“Pretty sure the kid couldn’t have made up the vague bullshit his hand just showed us. And yeah... I can’t believe that was a sentence either,” Varric said with a sigh.

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas explained, touching Del’s shoulder as he passed him. “The Fade bleeds into this place. That is not as important as what we must do. The rift is it is not sealed, but closed—albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely.”

“Opening the rift to where all of the demons live and hoping we can seal it again?” Samson asked. “Right. What could possibly go wrong?”

Solas smirked lightly. “Nothing. Provided we are prepared.”

“Demons,” Cassandra called out to the soldiers and archers who were fighting with them. “Stand ready!”

Samson watched as everyone moved into position. He set a hand on Del’s shoulder, brushing fingers over the shell of an ear and along the curve of one cheek. Then he moved away, joining the other soldiers.

Del smiled at him before looking to Cassandra. Once she nodded, he held up his hand. Light poured from the mark and into the crystals above them. And Samson scowled as they watched a large form materialize before them.

“Pride demon. Fucking wonderful,” he muttered as Cassandra barked out more orders.

Lightning lashed at them as more lesser demons joined the fray. There didn’t seem to be enough potions in the world to keep their stamina, mana, or health where it needed to be.

Del was doing his best, so far as Samson could tell, and based on what little attention he could afford to bestow any of the mages. Still, the longer the fight wore on and the more he held the mark up to the rift, the paler Del seemed to get. He went down once, spirit whips cutting into his skin and breaking his mark’s connection to the rift. Varric helped him back up as Solas threw up a barrier around them.

Finally, a barrage of arrows and a well-timed fireball took care of the demon. The breach seemed to swell and then quickly the green light began to recede further and further back and into the air. The light’s retreat continued until it was high above them. The sky flashed pure white, and then just like that, the skies were calmer.

Samson looked back down just in time to see Del collapsing again.

He caught him, unable to keep Del’s head from lolling back. He lowered Del to the ground gently, but he was unable to revive him. Del was breathing though. Samson yanked off an armored glove, checking for a pulse, relieved that it was steady. He was less relieved to see the mark was glowing brighter and darker along with each heartbeat.

“He will mend,” Solas said gently. “Just as the skies have done. Just as he has done before.”

Even so, they wouldn’t let Samson carry Del back to Haven, for the mage required more care than one man could give. Solas left quickly alongside several scouts who could move faster on their own. And they took Del with them, of course.

Samson thought of hurrying after them, but he felt… Well, he felt rather defeated. What good would anything have been if he just lost him again?

“Takes a lot out of a person, don’t you think?” Rutherford asked as they headed down from the temple, past the strange corpses with their lit fingers and frozen expression. “Ghastly business this.”

“I was rather hoping to have a few more conversations before he slept for another week.”

“Surely it won’t be as long as all that this time,” Rutherford insisted. “I can’t imagine it will happen again or all that frequently. Unless there’s something seriously wrong with him.”

“Not a thing is wrong,” Samson snapped. “Save for…”

“Yes?”

Samson sighed heavily, glancing down the mountain towards Haven. “Save for the last week. Save for this moment, and all the other bloody ones I have to endure until he’s awake again.”

“You’ve never like things being too easy,” Rutherford said amiably, setting a hand on Samson’s shoulder. “But things always work out.”

“Except that every time he nods off, I’m going to wonder if he’s ever going to wake up again.”

“Only the first dozen times. It’s a bit nice though. You can’t take any moment with him for granted.”

“Because every moment might be his last?” Samson asked with a scowl. “You keep trying to find something wrong with Del, but I would pay good coin to learn what’s wrong with you.”

*

Three days. Three bloody days of Solas’ grating, smug optimism and Adan’s unsatisfying, disinterested updates.

At night, at least, Samson could get rid of them, and be alone. He could brush fingers through Del’s hair and tell him all about the shite day he’d had without him. He could, when it was still and silent, ask Del if he’d considered waking up. He could… Well, it was no one’s business what he asked for or how he asked for it.

“I’m staying,” he said at some point when night three was ever so slowly turning into day four. Someone was shaking him, trying to wake him up, and Samson was not having it. “Hands off.”

“You can stay only I wish you’d wake up.”

Samson scowled but opened his eyes.

Del was smiling sleepily at him from the other side of the bed.

“Don’t hello me,” Samson said, pulling Del into his arms. “Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were going to. You were going to say hello and go on smiling like that. Trying to get me to be less annoyed with you.”

Del laughed. “Was I? Would it have worked?”

“Most likely. So. How do you feel?”

“Slightly embarrassed,” Del said quietly. “How many days this time?”

“Three.”

Del sighed, looking crestfallen and hunching his shoulders. “Please don’t leave.”

“I wouldn’t,” Samson said, kissing Del’s cheek. “You know what this means, don’t you? Now you just get to sleep one night at a time. No more of this multiples nonsense. One night is plenty. You get one night then I get one day. A full day, mind, and then it repeats.”

Del smiled, but there was something sad about it. As if he was hopeful and despairing all at once. “Do you want to be rid of me or do you want to keep me forever? I don’t… I don’t know if I can tell, and I just wish you’d keep me.”

Samson sighed. “I want to keep you, but I want a little bit of normal, you know?”

Del sniffed. “Normal would be wonderful. I just don’t know if I’ll have that to offer you anytime soon, not with everything that’s happening, and I’m so sorry—”

Samson sat up, pulling Del into his lap. “Here now,” he said, letting Del clutch at him. “That was clumsily done, wasn’t it? On my part, understand? Not yours. Don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry. Normal is… I don’t think I know what that looks like, all right? Let’s start small. Just… give me a normal sleep cycle, eh?”

“I want to.”

“Good enough. So let’s start again. You wake me up. You smile and say?”

Del took a deep breath before he managed a smile. His eyes were a bit wet and bloodshot somehow in spite of all the sleep, but he still looked beautiful. “Hello,” he managed. “And you say?”

“Hello,” Samson said, “and then I say that I’ve missed you. I missed you for a month and then seven days and then three. And I’ve talked to you for maybe a handful of hours, but I want more. So if I have to wait, I’ll wait. I won’t fucking like it, but I’ll do it.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

Del sighed in something like happy relief. He curled up against Samson, gently pulling him down and into a kiss. “I won’t keep you waiting anymore,” he said, afterwards, “but I’m glad you were here to find me.”

“I am too.”

“Only next time… Take me with you? Please?”

“Next time?” Samson asked with a hint of scowl. “I might very well be a fool, but I learn from my mistakes, thank you ever so much. There is to be no ‘next time.’ I won’t lose you to my own stupidity. Not again.”

“Oh good,” Del said. His tone was light, but his faith in what Samson was telling him was absolute. It ought to have been irritating, and of course it wasn’t. It only served to fuel Samson’s resolve.

“Besides which,” Samson added, “you’re not going anywhere. Got news for you. While you slept they decided you were Andraste come again, and I haven’t been properly blessed yet.”

Del laughed. “Just what sort of blessing are you after, Samson?”

“The sort only you can give me.”

“How many times?”

Samson leaned down, kissing Del soundly. It was gentler than he wanted to be. Sometimes kisses craved fierceness to them, but there was time for that. After all, he wasn’t letting Del out of his sight anytime soon. “As many,” he decided, lips brushing against Del’s cheek, “as you are able.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Tigercule, for the beta, and TCRegan for reading it over. And thank you for reading! I'm working on more fics about these two, and I should be posting a second one at some point soon.


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